


Tête-à-Tête

by a_partofthenarrative



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 01:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_partofthenarrative/pseuds/a_partofthenarrative
Summary: Erik and Christine share a private moment in her dressing room. A deeper exploration of the kiss in LND.





	Tête-à-Tête

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another Tumblr prompt posted to FFN last year and probably one of my favorite pieces I've written for Phantom to date.  
> LND based. Very fluffy to make up for "Liberte." Enjoy and please review! I always love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> "A kiss... in a rush of adrenaline."

To be quite honest, she is not completely sure of how they have arrived at this moment.

The last clear memory she has is exiting the stage as the applause rang thunderous throughout the auditorium. She recalls how her footfalls seemed to echo the thundering of the blood rushing through veins, each step falling in perfect syncopation to the wild beat of her heart and she swore she felt her smile grow with every step.

She remembers sensing him, waiting for her there in the wings as he always has; the constant, calming presence that she craved in her youth.

That she still craves as a woman.

Though at the time they share nothing more than a glance, his expression is permanently imprinted in her memory. One side of his face bears nothing but the cold indifference of the mask; the facade presented to a world who has shown him nothing but scorn. But the other...

The other side- the one only she sees as they pass- holds a fascinating blend of astonished adoration and unabashed reverence. His gemstone eyes catch her gaze, beholding her as if she is every good thing in his world. Once upon a time, she had been. She will never admit that she longs to be again. Her eyes had flicked away and her traitorous heart pounded faster as decade-old emotions threatened to overcome her.

Foolishly, she believed her dressing room would offer the solace she suddenly needed like air, but as soon as her feet crossed the threshold, she knew he was only seconds behind her. Unbidden recollections of the innocuous embrace they shared only days ago flooded her mind and, in a rush of recklessness, it was suddenly a much more intimate embrace that she desired, reminiscent of one brief night long ago.

She had no more than a moment to collect herself, to push a steadying hand against her breast and attempt a few calming breathes. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._

His arrival to her dressing room moments later, anticipated and not unexpected, quickly drove away any tranquilly she had managed to attain. In its place came the thrill of the music and the pleasure of a sublime performance. His words echoed this sentiments as he grasped her hands, long fingers curling naturally around hers, and she could not help but smile wide at the unrestrained joy lighting his eyes.

_"What a triumph you gave me tonight!"_

Indeed she had. He knew it and she knew it.

But this was much more than the satisfaction of a good performance. This, what had happened on that stage tonight, had forever altered the course of their lives. Ten long years had come and gone. Ten years of his music without her voice to bring it to life. A decade of her song without his passion. All of it, finally set right.

No longer was she able to deny the beauty that existed in his music, in his soul. Tonight, she had seen it again for herself and felt it in every fiber of her being. In the few precious moments they were able to share alone, she had told him so, even as his forehead rested lightly on her shoulder and his tears ran over her skin. As the music had risen and soared to the rafters, her heart had followed and fallen directly into his hands.

" _And I felt beautiful_.." she had whispered, stepping away, then returning to him, gripping his hand tightly in her own, her own tears of joy threatening to fall as she smiled widely up at him.

He had released a half bark of laughter in a distinct divergent of his usual self, but she uttered no protest as he pulled her closer and lifted her into an impetuous twirl, her hands planted firmly on his broad shoulders, his grasping her waist. Skirts and coat tails flying, she had felt weightless in his arms, every nerve on alert where he touched her, her soul awake and alive from his music infusing every pore.

He released her on a long sigh, but no sooner had her feet touched the ground than she found herself back in his arms and her lips pressed roughly to his.

This is the moment that she currently finds herself in and though the rational part of her brain urges her to pull away and see reason, the rest of her promptly tells reason to shove off.

Instead, she melts into his, pushing back against his lips as her arms snake around his shoulders, drawing his body further into her. He trembles beneath her fingers, even the fingers resting against her back quaking at the realization of what he has impetuously done. His lips still suddenly under her own and she curses the hesitance she causes him.

She has not come this far to lose him now.

With a sigh, she pulls him closer, coaxing his mouth back to life. Her lips open and close over his still ones, once, twice, three times before he responds, shyly and gently pushing back on hers, testing to be sure that this is real. Humming her approval, she advances, allowing the slow slide of her tongue to part his lips, drawing a gasp from him at the new sensation and causing his fingers to tighten where he hold her at the waist.

Gradually, she feels his confidence return and when one of his hands move to cradle her cheek, angling her head to slot their lips deeper together, she knows there is no where she would rather be. Just as she had allowed herself to be lost in his music, at this moment, she chooses to be lost in him. In her arms, he is the very embodiment of his music: a strange dichotomy of passionate intrigue and unconventional beauty, alluring and undeniable.

On a breath, she swears she feels his smile and then the whisper of "I love you" against her lips, but she takes him again before she can be sure and refuses to believe she is wrong. Her hands move to his face, one resting against the soft skin of his visible cheek and the fingers of the other dig into his scalp as the kiss deepens, his tongue probing, causing her to gasp into his mouth which only makes him hold her tighter, kiss her harder.

If this is madness, then reason be damned. She has waited ten years to kiss him like this again, to feel his palpable desire f _or her_ again.

She is not naive enough to believe that this can end well for all involved. She knows very well that they are each other's siren song, desired and doomed for destruction, but in this moment, she can not find it in herself to care in the least.

Somewhere, being in his arms and tasting his kiss has come from reactive to purposeful and she finds she can no longer deny what is in her heart. She needs his music to keep her soul alive and she needs _him_ , with her, beside her, as she needs air to breathe.

He pulls back then, offering a shaky smile with unshed tears shining bright in his eyes. Her responding one is gentle, breath catching as he settles for a slow kiss to her knuckles, eyes burning with promises of things to come should she so wish.

She exhales for what feels like the first time in months and rests her forehead against the cool porcelain of the mask as both of them attempt to regain control. Her eyes flick up, his down, and both find they are powerless to stop the happy smiles that come amidst heavy breaths.

In this moment, all is right.

In each other, they are home.


End file.
